A Strange, Sweet Sound
by jennyfair
Summary: A series of EC oneshots inspired by the ALW musical. Some are drabbles, some aren't, but none are very long.
1. Glory

_A/N: Thanks to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber for all characters associated with The Phantom of the Opera. Some of these vignettes were inspired by particular actors/performances, others just by the show in general. There is no particular order, though the first few are chronological.  
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**Glory**

Christine's heart beat so wildly that she was sure she would faint. Her Angel had promised to show himself at last! He instructed her to turn, to look at her reflection in the mirror, but she could not make herself move. He would be radiant, she knew it—an angel must surely carry with him the light of heaven!—and she feared that as a mere mortal she would be struck down by his glory. Finally she summoned the courage, sure that her Angel would not ask her to do something which would harm her. She turned, and he was there, _inside_ the mirror, just as he had said! Without knowing her own actions she held her arms up to him, beckoning, begging for him to come to her.


	2. Focus

_A/N: Inspired by the various hair-slicks I've seen over the years...mmf._

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Focus**

She was here! Finally _here_, with me, flesh and blood and bone standing before me—no longer some torturous figment of my imagination. Her eyes were wide and shining as she looked at _me_, as she sang for me alone. I could not stop staring at her even as I stripped away my hat and cloak, nor keep my fingers from slipping over my mask and wig to reassure myself that everything was as it should be. What was meant to be a gesture of habit turned into a caress as her angel's voice washed over me, and I wished it were her small hand snaking down my chest instead of my own. The thought made me shiver and I forced myself to turn away, to focus upon her voice instead of the beautiful vessel which contained it.


	3. Awakenings

**Awakenings**

Christine awoke to the gentle chimes of a music box, her head still spinning from the night before. There had been such music! She remembered a lake, hundreds of candles in the mist, and…a man. Her Angel had finally revealed himself to her and he was a man! She remembered the feel of his all-too-solid hands, guiding her as she sang, caressing…and she flushed. There had been a mask, too, cold against her palm. She was half-convinced it had all been a dream until she sat up and saw the object of her confused memories only a short distance away.


	4. Reminder

_A/N: A fill-in scene of Christine's thoughts after Mme Giry sends her home the morning of the unmasking.  
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**Reminder**

Christine sat at her bedroom vanity and rubbed her wrist where he had seized it, urging her to her feet and virtually dragging her back up to the surface. It was sore and would surely bruise, but she was thankful for the pain—a tangible reminder that the past twenty-four hours had not been a dream. _Or nightmare_…she thought, shuddering, remembering those burning eyes and twisted features. Glancing in the mirror, she touched her cheek and was surprised to find tears there. Covering the glass with a shawl, she climbed into bed and wept herself into a fitful sleep.


	5. Dissemblance

_A/N: This one is for bee, who got me writing in the first place, and who has always stuck by my original mannequin ("manny") fics--this is just a leetle of the old _waxing poetic_ poking her head in for a bit.  
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**Dissemblance**

She had not come to the Opera that day. In truth, he had not expected her to. Repairs were still underway in the auditorium, meaning that there were no rehearsals to attend, and though there once had been a time when Christine would linger in the building where her "Angel" spoke to her, now she had a young man to distract her and lure her out of her teacher's sight and into the bustling city. Erik sat alone stories below the empty stage, staring moodily across the room at the absent woman's wax replica. Usually he prided himself on the accuracy of the reproduction, but now the resemblance only served to sour his mood. He had considered hiding her away somewhere—_out of sight, out of mind_, he told himself—but there she continued to stand. It pained him to consider it, but now that Christine knew what he was, now that another man had stolen her away, Erik forced himself to realize that this lifeless model was perhaps his only opportunity ever to have her in his home again. Sighing, he rose and covered her figure with a sheet before returning to the organ.


	6. Chains

**Chains**

_He's here…_I remember thinking as a hush descended over the festivities. Without looking I could sense his presence, and it was not until Raoul's arms were about me, guiding me aside, that I made any move at all. I kept my eyes firmly closed until the last moment, until I felt _him_ drawing me to him silently, and as I turned towards him I was met not with the dark, melancholy figure I knew but a triumphant figure all in scarlet, his skull mask no match for the true death's head behind it. His arm was extended as if to pull the invisible string which bound us no matter how far I tried to run from him, and freeing myself from Raoul's embrace I returned to him. His hand hovered just above my neckline and I felt that if I breathed any harder my skin would rise up to touch his fingertips. I waited for that touch, trembling, but he only reached out to seize the necklace which bore Raoul's ring. I cried out as he snatched the chain away, his booming voice reminding me once more that I would never be free of him.


	7. Surrender

**Surrender**

He asks if I have forgotten him—forgotten! As if it were even possible, with his shadow haunting my steps, his voice echoing in my mind as I wake and sleep. My fallen Angel calls to me constantly, even at the sanctuary of my father's grave. Oh, he has chosen his battles wisely—I am so weary of resisting, of fighting against what seems to be inevitable, and so I turn to him with open arms. _Would a lifetime of night truly be so frightening?_ I wonder as he continues to beckon to me, his voice both commanding and pleading.


	8. Normal

_A/N: A bit longer than usual, but not long enough to stand alone and so it finds a home here!_

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**Normal**

Christine stared at the back of the man who had once been her Angel, his shoulders heaving as he collected himself after his outburst. He asked her to choose, commanded her! If only she could act as a normal woman might when deciding between two suitors, knowing that the one not chosen would be disappointed yet find another worthy object of his affections…but none of this was normal. One man stood before her, scarred in every sense; the other, behind her, strung up in a noose in a failed attempt to rescue her. Erik had been right—there was no hope of winning. Whichever man she chose, the other would die…one way or another.

How had it all come to this? What could have driven the man who had been her tutor, who had gently coaxed her out of her grief into living her father's dream, to become the creature standing in front of her now? She found herself murmuring her thoughts aloud, wondering what sort of life he could have had. Pulling herself to her feet she closed the small distance between them. He flinched as she laid her palm on his shoulder and her heart ached. He had hinted at his past sufferings, and Christine could only imagine the extent of them. There was no way to heal them all, but she wanted to try in some small way to heal those that she herself had inflicted. Tugging at his shoulder she twisted him around, meeting his confused gaze for a moment as she framed his face with her hands and guided his twisted lips down to meet hers.


	9. Certainty

_A/N: Something of a continuation of the previous scene, though this one was written months before. _

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**Certainty**

I struggled to my feet, the certainty of what to do giving me the strength I did not know I possessed. I prayed for courage, reaching out to the broken man before me. He flinched as I touched him, whirling around as if to challenge me once more. Without hesitating I drew him towards me, cradling his poor head in my hands. His mouth was rough and uncertain against mine, but warm and alive despite his dead appearance. When he would not hold me I pressed myself tightly to his chest, wishing I could soothe his pain with my touch. He trembled, but did not pull away when I lowered his head once more, our lips meeting a second time. I caressed every inch of his face and sparse hair, accepting with my hands what I had once shied away from in fear and misunderstanding. It was he who withdrew first, the wonder in his expression bringing fresh tears to my eyes.


	10. Slumber

_A/N: Going back a ways here. Not a strict drabble._

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**Slumber**

It seemed like hours that he watched her sleep before finally retreating to his music. He would not sleep this night—how could he, with Christine so near?—but he at least changed from his suit coat into his favorite robe. He spent a few minutes staring at the open page of his _Don Juan_ before his eyes drifted once again to the prone figure across the room, leading his feet back to her side. She was so peaceful, so unaware that she was in the home of a madman and murderer… Erik chided himself for his dark thoughts. For her he would leave all of that behind, there was no need for her ever to know of his life before he was her Angel of Music. Finally he pried himself away from her slumbering form--it would not do to have her wake up to his looming form above her. He had to tread delicately, now…one false step and he would ruin everything he had worked so hard to achieve.


	11. Reflex

_A/N: A bit more than three drabbles' worth! Written for sparklyscorpion and inspired by Howard McGillin--he has one of the angriest unmaskings I've seen, and I love it._

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**Reflex**

I continued to seethe in anger, even as the soft sounds of her weeping reached my ears. I glanced up to where Christine lay curled in a ball on the floor, her slight frame trembling in what I could only imagine to be fear. Though some small part of me still wished to comfort her after what she had done, when I finally spoke it was to rebuke her, my voice reduce to a growl. Surely she had dreamed up some beautiful thing, some true angel, and not the foul creature that crawled along his belly simply to be near her, who begged her to see the man that languished behind his beastly exterior.

I watched her struggle to sit up, to look back at me…but any foolish optimism I could have cultivated was dashed when I lowered my hand from my face and she turned away from me once more. Anger succumbed to bitter tears, and I could not bear to look at her any longer. A movement in the corner of my vision startled me and I instinctively drew back, a reflex bred out of a lifetime of abuse.

Christine held the mask out, her hand steady although her eyes were uncertain. I stared at her for a long moment, half expecting her to snatch it away when I moved to take it, but she merely watched in silence as I eased it back into place. Already I felt calmer, as if some sense of control were restored along with my mask. She was looking up at me, her eyes dry now, and I reached out to touch her. Though she did not pull away, the memory of her horrified expression stilled my hand. I seized her wrist and urged her to her feet; it was time to return her to the world of the living.


	12. Indiscretion

_A/N: An update, finally! Many thanks to those who reviewed this collection or added it as a favorite over the past two years, I appreciated your support even though I wasn't writing! A true drabble, going back to the beginning a bit. Thanks to sparklyscorpion for helping to lure me out of hiding :)  
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**Indiscretion**

Behind the mirror, I could not help but listen as Christine described her Angel of Music to little Giry. I had sworn her to secrecy, yet I could not chastise my pupil for this indiscretion…to hear her speak of me with such excitement, to know that I was the reason behind her smile, was worth her disobedience. Mme Giry soon whisked her daughter away to rehearsals, and I watched Christine as she sat at the vanity and removed the last pieces of Elissa's costume. She had triumphed that night, _we_ had triumphed, and my mind buzzed with words of praise.


	13. Endless

**Endless**_  
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She was so beautiful standing there before her father's grave, tears drying upon her cheeks as she stared up at me in wonder. Even in a moonlit cemetery, surrounded by the dead, I wanted her. _What endless longings_... Oh, innocent child, if she only knew the dangers in such a question! I could have swept down from my perch that very moment and spirited her away. I could have worshiped every perfect inch of her, taught her to love me... But the honest answer, my true longing, was for her to join me at my side willingly, and without fear.


End file.
